In Today's News
by TwistedRocketPower
Summary: You never know what kind of article you may find in the paper.


**I could not get this out of my head, so I had to write it. I hope you all enjoy :)**

**Tumblr: notalone88  
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This shouldn't take too long.

It's simply really.

Just a little story about a boy who changed my life.

I met him during my junior year of high school, which was a very lonely time for me.

He quickly became my best friend and confidant.

I looked up to him.

I loved him.

Seems silly, loving someone you barely know, but it's true.

Things got bad at my school, so I transferred to his.

I got new friends, a new wardrobe, more time with him, and a bird.

Yes. A bird.

We sang together (Not the bird and me, _him_ and me… although I did sing with the bird sometimes too).

We laughed.

Argued.

I stood back and watched as he crushed on another boy.

Then I watched- but did not stand back- as he crushed on a girl, however alcohol-induced it may have been.

I'm pretty sure the reason my dad gave me "the talk" was his fault too. He denies it. I don't believe him.

Then my bird died.

And I sang about it.

Cause that's what all the normal kids do, right… _Right?_

Somehow that brought his head out of his butt and he saw the light. He realized he liked me. _Liked_ _me_, liked me. Not just shoulder shrug, "He's my friend," liked me. But the full on, "I wanna be my most dapper self for you" _liked_ me.

Yeah, I've never been the best with explaining things.

He confessed his feelings for me over a bedazzled, mini casket I was making for my bird, and kissed me.

Best. Kiss. Ever…

At that time, at least.

Our new, budding romance was filled with blushes, heart palpitations, sweaty palms, shy glances, sudden urges to jump up and down whilst squealing, chaste kisses, and walking closer than necessary.

I switched back to my old school and, while I enjoyed wardrobe freedom, I missed him like crazy.

We texted between classes, spent every possible weekend together (until our twin eleven o'clock curfews, of course), and Skyped on weeknights.

He was my date to prom. I know he didn't want to go. I know he was scared, with good reason, and that he just went for me.

When they announced me as prom _queen_ that night, I ran.

He ran after me.

As I freaked out, he remained calm.

At the time, I wished that he would just freak out with me. Get upset, angry, pissed, whatever! But I realized afterward that he was my rock.

If he would have freaked out, I never would have gone back in.

I went back in.

I accepted my crown.

When the prom king wouldn't dance with me, he did. In front of everyone. Because what everyone else thought no longer mattered. _They_ no longer mattered.

And later that night, when it hit me again, he held me as I cried.

He reminded me of what I always said about myself. He reminded me that I was special.

He told me that he didn't know any other boys who won prom queen, therefore it made me even _more_ special.

I framed the picture of us, with me wearing my crown, the next day.

The day he told me he loved me I probably had a mini heart attack, and peed in my pants, all in the two seconds it took me to reply.

I didn't have to think about saying it back. I had already loved him for a long time.

I was surprised, however, that he loved me. He said it so easily too. Like he didn't even have to think about it. He just knew.

The memory still makes me smile.

That summer he listened to every draft of the play I wrote, and I went to every Six Flags concert of his that I could.

Our kisses became less chaste and touching was no longer limited to the face- although it did not allow _anything_ below the belt.

I taught him how to cook things more complicated than spaghetti, and he taught me that watching Jersey Shore could be fun.

When the new school year began, I asked (or possibly begged) for him to transfer to my school. I never really expected him to though.

Of course, always full of surprises, he did.

It was kind of like a mini version of moving in with someone.

It started off great. I could look over and he'd be there. Lunches were spent together. We could share a smile, eye roll, or any kind of facial expression from across the room.

Then there was a boy who almost ruined everything. But he failed. He majorly failed.

If anything, he brought us closer together.

Literally.

Very, _very_ literally.

He made me realize that my cutie loved me. He loved me physically, emotionally, and every other "-ally" out there.

If you would have told junior me that senior me would be losing his virginity, I would have told you that you were cruel, cut down your taste in shoes, then walked away.

I realized on that glorious day that having sex was so much more than seeing someone naked, or putting body parts together and feeling really good.

It's loving someone. Loving their flaws, scars, and secrets. It's loving them _because_ they're not perfect, not in spite of it. It's loving who they are, inside and out. It's holding them, trusting them, making them yours in the most intimate, private way.

At least that's what it was for me. And he tells me that it was the same for him too.

The next few weeks were filled with blushes, heart palpitations, sweaty palms, sudden urges to jump up and down whilst squealing, not-so-chaste kisses that usually led somewhere else, and practically being attached at the hips whenever possible… which could be taken in whatever way you choose.

Things were calm for a while after that. Too calm, actually.

He became distant just a couple of months later. So, _so_ distant.

I feared he was getting tired of me, of _us_.

I should have known it was more than that.

But I didn't.

And I met someone else.

Someone who made me feel… special.

Now, this someone and I never did anything more than send flirty texts.

But I hurt him.

Not text boy; love-of-my-life boy.

I made him cry.

He was the strong one, at least to me he was, and I made _him_ cry.

I found out soon after that the reason for his distance was not because he was tired of us, but because he was scared of losing us.

See, I was a senior and he was a junior. I had big New York dreams for college and he wouldn't be there for that first year.

The revelation broke my heart.

But it fixed _ours_.

I was stupid.

I only applied to one college.

I didn't get in.

I thought I would. I thought I did everything right. But, apparently, there is no such thing as doing everything right. Or, at least that's what it seemed.

Once again, he held me while I cried.

And I cried.

_A lot._

He assured me everything would be okay.

I told him there was no way he could know that.

I should have known better than to doubt him.

He and I spent every possible moment of that summer together. We got a job at the same store, spent evenings walking in the park, or watching movies. He even got me to go on a bike ride with him.

I fell twice.

He was always there to help me up.

School started back.

I would drop him off every day then head to classes at the community college nearby.

Not the way I intended to spend my first semester of college.

I really thought everything people said about community colleges were a little over-the-top.

Maybe they were exaggerating for dramatic effect.

They weren't.

But, that's not what this story's about.

During that semester, he and I spent hours working on applications to colleges in New York. I was smarter this time. I applied to twelve places.

I got eight acceptance letters.

I chose to go into design instead of my original path of theater. I realized over that fall semester at community college that I was more interested in what characters were _wearing_ than I was in what they were _doing_.

That January, before I left, he and I had a long goodbye.

Long, _long_ goodbye.

Or, more like a long I'll-miss-not-seeing-you-everyday.

Because it definitely _wasn't_ a goodbye.

Long distance was for us.

We agreed to Skype, spend whatever weekends we possibly could together (not caring about the ten hour drive), talk on the phone, text, and do whatever else we could to keep us going.

It actually… worked.

And it wasn't freakishly hard.

There was no one for me but him, I realized. No matter how many gay men were in my classes, I only thought of _my_ man. When a guy would hit on me, I'd text him and thank him for never seriously using those ridiculously cheesy pick up lines.

Two gay guys joined his school that year, but they were never more than his friends.

He informed them right off the bat that he was taken. He said he did it subtly. When I met them, however, they couldn't seem to agree.

I made it back to him just in time for his graduation. He looked so cute up there. He blew me a kiss and I caught it, then blew one back, which of course he caught as well… Cause we're cool like that.

He had gotten accepted into NYU and, when I told him I didn't want him going to New York just for me, he gave me his best glare, kissed me, told me to not be stupid, and left it at that.

Still not sure if I should be offended or not.

He spent his freshman year living in the dorms.

He thought it would be a good idea at first.

He ended up spending most nights at my apartment.

Then, after freshman year, he moved in.

It was simple. He practically lived there already anyway.

Except he had a lot more stuff than I thought. A whole lot more. And it wasn't like we could fit two dressers, night stands, and add another closet in the bedroom.

We had to compromise. And buy new a dresser.

Compromising meant arguing. How could it not? It wasn't like we _wanted_ to give up stuff.

We stayed up for two nights straight. No sleep, and no leaving the house. We had promised each other that before.

If we were angry, we'd stay up and stay home until we fixed it.

We fixed it.

And broke in our new comforter and sheet set.

He graduates next month. And we'll be moving soon after that.

We could have moved a while back. We both have good jobs, and are surprisingly awesome at saving money. We liked this place though. It was close to everything.

But soon we'll have new "everything's" and we'll need that new place to fit it all.

I'll begin to wrap this up now, I just have a little more to say.

You're still my rock. Still my everything. You mean more to me than you'll ever know. I love you as much as I did when we were teenagers. Even more. You still make me blush, give me heart palpitations, make my palms sweaty, give me sudden urges to jump up and down whilst squealing, have the best lips known to man, and I absolutely love walking next to you with our hands clasped tightly.

He reads this newspaper every day.

I told him he could just read it online, but I swear he was born in the forties. He refuses to read the paper online, saying it would just seem wrong. Papers were meant to be on paper, and meant to be read that way.

I know this is anonymous, but even with all of the obvious things above to let him know who wrote this, he won't.

Knowing him, he'll probably call me over and tell me I _have_ to read what some guy wrote to their boyfriend.

Then, as I come over and begin to "read" it, he'll realize he just did what I said he'd do.

And his eyes will get wide as he remembers the last thing I wrote.

Will you marry me?


End file.
